Vrindavan was intense sometimes. Bloody intense.
Temple crowds were feisty, pointy, rushed, and unforgiving. People would push each other aside to get a better spot to pray to their precious Krishna deity, or to squeeze through the hole in the temple gateway.
Screeching thieving monkeys were literally everywhere in the old town. There didn't seem to be any benign cute ones. We had to keep our phones and sunnies hidden at all times.
I discovered the worst job in the world. Selling bananas in monkey-infested Vrindavan. The stallholders there seemed to spend more time shooing monkeys away with sticks than shifting produce. Way more yelling than selling. And you can never relax, because they're super quick, super smart and super stubborn.
Phil and I arrived in Krishna's childhood haunt on a freezing cold mid morning, only to discover that our particular rickshaw couldn't take us all that close to where we needed to go. The roads were blocked to certain traffic. So we needed to switch to another type of rickshaw.
And then the road was eventually blocked to all vehicular traffic whatsoever. So that was that, we were on our feet.
And to make it even more difficult, our homestay happened to be right smack bang in the thick of the area closest to the busiest temple in the whole place, so it wasn't easily accessible when the temple was open. Due to the huge crowds it was pretty much impossible to get through without being shepherded into the temple itself.
Also, you couldn't wear shoes in the laneways near the temple, so, in the freezing cold, we had to traipse through the dirty wet laneways in bare feet, struggling to squeeze through swarms of devotees with our packs on our backs, and day packs in our hands.
It wasn't pretty.
But after getting lost a few times, we finally made it to our homestay, to discover that our room was really nice, but was so cold that it was actually warmer outside in the big fridge than inside in the freezer.
Them's the breaks.
On the train from Khajuraho to Agra, Cantt.
Good old Indian English. It's still stuck in the 1940s. They use terms like "Cantonment," "Officers' Enclave," "Leper Colony," and "Fancy Store," and still use all those beautiful old words like "hanker" and "madam" and "backside." It's so cute.
The green banks of the Chambel River
We'd planned to go straight through to Vrindavan the same day, but our train was delayed, (nah, really?), and we'd missed the last connecting bus, so we stayed in Agra for the night, in the seedy side of town. No Taj Mahal tourists within cooee of us, mate.
Phil had curd.
I had carrot halwa.
Phil's was healthier.
Mine was yummier.
I win.
Sneaker sale
Heading to the local bus stand in the morning
Crowds of clothes buyers getting excited. The clothes wallah didn't stop talking, and threw clothes in the air to build up the buying hype. Clever guy, it seemed to work.
More local bus action
We passed Agra Fort. It's quite magnificent. The Taj Mahal is magnificent too. But we didn't stop. We've both been there, done that.
Starting to negotiate the busy Vrindavan laneways
Cute Krishna and gopi statues. Or dolls. Whatever they are.
I think they're dolls, because you can buy dresses to dress them up. They're all shiny and beautiful.
It was cold and foggy in Vrindavan.
ISKCON
One morning we visited a beautiful temple, the huge Sri Sri Radhe Balawan Mandir. Don't ask me why there's a double Sri. The temple happens to be inside one of the major ISKCON centres in India.
ISKCON stands for the International Society for Krishna Consciousness, which administers hundreds of Hare Krishna centres and temples around the world.
How ISKCON came about and grew is actually a pretty amazing story.
The founder of the modern Hare Krishna movement, Swami Prabhupada, began to follow the teachings of his guru, Bakhtisiddhanta Sarasvati, as a young man.
He was a family man at the time, he had a wife and kids, but once the kids grew up he decided to embrace the teachings more fully, and in 1959 became a sanyasi, taking vows to live a life of renunciation and service.
Swami Prabhupada founded a magazine in India, and became a prime spokesperson for the Vaishnava teachings of a previous guru, Chaitanya Mahaprabhu. Vaishnavites believe Vishnu (or his avatars) are the supreme beings, and the sect is the largest Hindu sect in India. In the 1950s the Swami moved to Vrindavan to write and publish books on the teachings.
The teachings of the Hare Krishna movement are derived from ancient Hindu scriptures. Devotees believe that Krishna (an avatar of Vishnu) is the Supreme Lord, and that humans are eternal spiritual beings trapped in an endless cycle of reincarnation. Heard that before?
The nature of the cycle is determined by karma, the law of the consequences of past actions, and it's this which returns beings to physical existence, over and over again.
According to the movement’s doctrine, it's possible to change this karma by practicing extreme forms of yoga. But Krishna, in all his gorgeous benevolence, has provided a much easier method to get there - simply chant the holy names of Krishna and Rama.
What a party!
Swami Prabhupada's guru had, for many years, directed the Swami to spread the important Krishna teachings all around the world. And as an old man he finally did the deed in a big way.
In 1966, at 70 years of age, and with 40 rupees in his pocket, Prabupadha flew to New York to spread the word. It was a tough time. He had little support there, and, despite appealing to every organisation he knew in India, no money came. He met unemployed hippies on the street, and through them managed to find an unused bookshop to sleep in.
Every day Prabupadha would chant his Hare Krishna chants in the ground floor ex-bookshop, cook the most delicious healthy Indian feasts, and give teachings to the young hippies around the place. He allowed them to stay there, as long as they renounced their drug habits and contributed to their new little community. The hippies couldn't speak highly enough of him, and his influence grew.
Through connections he made there he was flown to San Francisco, and organised a big procession through the streets, with his head-shaven followers clanging their little cymbals and playing their drums and chanting Hare Krishna all over the place. It was a hit for the hippies.
The Swami and the festival made newspaper headlines in the city, and that's when things really started to happen. The Beatles were discovering Hindu spirituality at the time. George Harrison was really impressed with a Hare Krishna band, The Hare Krsna Temple, and did an album with them. Then George put out "My Sweet Lord," during which he chants Hare Krishna, Hare Rama etc, and then Krishna consciousness was suddenly well and truly on the global stage.
A-listers and many other wealthy Westerners were transformed by the practices, and donated huge sums to start spreading it around the world. Book sales made lots of money for the organisation, and they opened restaurants all over the place, often called "Food For Life,"or "Govindas." Swami Prabupadha began to travel around the world, establishing and consecrating new Krishna temples and centres, and motivating the troops.
He worked tirelessly till his death in 1997, and his efforts for the cause have totally paid off, if you're into that kind of thing. Today there are over 800 Hare Krishna Centres around the world.
Not a bad job mate, especially at his age.
The ISKCON centre in Vrindavan is one of the biggest and most important in India. While the ISKCON headquarters is actually at Mayapur near Kolkata, Vrindavan is second in importance, as it's the birthplace and childhood home of Krishna himself, bless his little cotton frocks.
The temple itself is magnificent, but, as usual, no cameras are allowed. This is what it looks like.
There was Krishna chanting going on inside when we were there, as usual. We sat and chanted, on the male side of the chant leaders. It was beautiful. But there were very few women chanting, and, surprise surprise, none of the women led any chants.
ISKCON is a modern organisation, but it's quite conservative in some of its beliefs. Swami Prabupadha said some pretty outrageously racist and sexist things while he was alive. He may have been awake, but he definitely wasn't woke.
ISKCON's attitude to women still leaves a lot to be desired.
Of course that's the rule, rather than the exception, for almost all organised religions worldwide, unfortunately.
Because many religious practices and teachings are so ancient, churches and other religious organisations' wider social attitudes seem to be cemented in the past. Change, if it happens at all, seems to occur at an excruciatingly slow pace.
And even when reformers attempt to introduce small changes, the old male leaders always put up a fight, the buggers.
One of the displays in the museum
Phil and I spent time exploring the backblocks of Vrindavan, particularly when Phil was leading, as he seems to have a penchant for exploration, and for getting lost in impossibly skinny and smelly laneways, whilst continuing to ignore the tried and trusted logical route to getting anywhere.
But it's much more fun his way, and we always saw interesting things.
The temple next to our homestay, Thakur Sri Banki Bihari Ji Mandir, was a cracker. It was open in the morning and late arvo/evening, and it was absolutely chockablock the whole of that time, inside and out. Inside there was always a mass of writhing humans, people jostling to get a spot to leave their offerings, and to get a glimpse of their passionately adored Krishna deity.
I'd missed Phil's 50th a couple of months back, and he'd missed my 60th even further back. So I bought him a 50th dinner in Vrindavan, and he did a 60th version for me in Delhi.
Radha Kund
Our friend Isa lived in Vrindavan for three years, many years ago. She told Phil some spots to go, one of which was this beautiful small temple town, Radha Kund.
On the electric bus. Yes! An electric bus, smooth and efficient, albeit pretty slow. The vehicle would've felt quite un-self-conscious in any modern European city.
Great to get outa town for a change.
We wandered through the streets, on our way to the sacred kund, which is the little lake that is often near temples, and is used for bathing and other rituals.
Quiet laneways. A welcome cruisey change from Vrindavan.
Phil has incredibly short legs, and a disproportionately huge torso. He has so much trouble finding pants, I used to give him my kids throwaway pants when they were toddlers. He also has to take about fifteen steps to my one, so is always getting tired. And I won't even mention the toileting challenges.
Barber box.
The beautiful, peaceful and sacred kund.
Phil and I did a ritual puja for Isa (and for all of you, and us), lighting a lamp, throwing flowers into the water, and chanting. We were blessed by a local, and repeated his chants as well.
A very relaxed and spiritually charged Phil, just before he did a triple backflip dive with a half twist. In pike position of course.
Local mandir (temple)
As it was getting late we took a rickshaw to Govardhan Hill, rather than walk around it. There's an important parikrama there, a walking or prostrating ritual path circumambulating a sacred place, that devotees carry out as part of their spiritual practice. In this case the sacred place is the top of the hill, it's sacred because Krishna himself told his devotees that it was.
Temple en route
Krishna and Radhe being admired by a young believer
These chained monkeys nearly jumped me as I left the temple. The thing to do is to give the monkeys a donation, and they hand it over to their pimp. No thanks, I'll pass on that one. Poor guys, they could be running free on Vrindavan rooftops, trees and power lines instead, hassling everyone, including us.
Prostrating woman
This guy was cheating, walking with his mat instead of using it.
Waiting for the bus back to town
Phil being the life of the party
Go to Part 2
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